


Caught

by Anonymous



Series: A Web Is Made Thread by Thread [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Holy crap I made something semi-consensual, M/M, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Ra's is a dick, Snark, What else is new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 14:44:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11465760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Tim says the wrong thing at the wrong time. Ra’s thinks the slip of the tongue is most…delicious.





	Caught

**Author's Note:**

> Basically the only way I can think of a semi-consensual thing going on with Tim and Ra’s. Made with the lovely, wonderful @iphoenixrising who wrote most of the stuff that will turn you into a puddle of goo.

The detective should have known better.

True, the Demon Head is the only resource with the information necessary to save his precious comrades. The only one with ancient transcripts to counter a virus that ravaged men and meta alike. A disease that should have lay asleep under a deep permafrost to wake nevermore. How unfortunate this concept of _global warming_ is.

Though perhaps the biochemical weapon aliens acquired from the shadows may have aided the process. Not that anyone has dug out the roots of that transaction yet. Yet when the young detective approached his keep, his allies’ cheeks red with fever, Ra’s **did** release the information without a fight…for a price.

He had expected an offer of a pragmatic nature. Such as a year of Red Robin’s service, a favor that Ra’s would relish later to be repaid or a new improved computer system due to the one the vigilante had destroyed in the past.

Not a joke about one night in the demon’s bed.

Timothy should have know better. Once the idea is in place, Ra’s will accept nothing else.

 _Homo Homini Lupus_ , a man is a wolf to man and Ra’s will devour him whole. 

So he told his dear detective all. Allowed him to use his resources, his lab and his men when the clock was running fast. Held absolutely nothing back so when the crisis was over, the snivelling children stable in heath, no excuse could possibly be made over Ra’s side of the bargain.

Now it was time for Timothy to fulfill his.

He let the boy come to him. Yes, keeping a few cards up his sleeve just in case those _wretched_ Titans think to spirit him away before he paid, but Ra’s does not need to use them. Not with his Timothy. So he let the hero to drag his feet to his chambers and waited an enjoyable moment or two before answering that angry knock.

“Detective.” His teeth have never been bared so wide.

Those eyes have never been so bright. Vibrant in their anger and hate. Ra’s must see them _ruined_ , clouded with reluctant pleasure. “I hate you and _one day I’m going to light you on fire._ ”

“Perhaps.” The assassin allows. “But it is evening and a good one I believe, is it not?”

“You’re gonna milk this all it’s worth, aren’t you?” The boy harshly grits out.

“I cannot help myself. I have been waiting to ‘milk’ you for a long time. I am sure you are delicious besides measure.” Under his breath the detective is muttering _you creep_ over and over again, his eyes becoming wide with each sentence. Ra’s finds it quite endearing. He draws the detective in. Curling a hand over the back of his skull to decrease the space behind them. “Yet let me make one thing clear.”

“Everything that happens in this chamber, every sound ripped from your lips,” Ra’s brings his other hand to thumb said lips before Timothy bites a hole in them. That task belongs to him.

“Every arch your body makes.” He slides his palm down to the small of that back. Presses, encourages the curve until their bodies meet. “Will remain in my upmost confidence. If a single word, ill or otherwise, is breathed by another concerning this…meeting, I will personally deliver to you _their spine.”_

“How _gracious_ of you.” Timothy snarls.

“I fear I may be becoming quite possessive, I wish to keep every moment we have tonight to myself.”

“Well don’t worry, tomorrow I’ll bash my head in until I get amnesia. _Or a coma, either is acceptable._ Then you’ll be the only one with the memories.”

Ra’s chuckles, his breath mingling with his prey’s. “Oh Beloved. I doubt I would let you forget anything.” And takes his first taste of Timothy’s lips.

The detective jerks back, but Ra’s won’t give an inch. He’s earned this indulgence and will savor it. Timothy’s jaw fits nicely in his grip as he angles that head to kiss and take. Tim’s eyes squeeze tight, but Ra’s won’t be gratified until he get his first moan from the boy. He cheats. Skims his hand down until Tim opens his mouth in an offended outrage, it’s perfect for Ra’s to slip his tongue into.

He was right. The detective is utterly delicious. Ra’s pulls back with a wet obscene smack. Watches the thread of spit connecting them break just to say, “We have too many clothes on for this venture, let us undress.”

The demon head steps a foot away to unclasp his cape and hear it fall behind him. As he starts on the buttons of his own shirt, he begins to find mild annoyance in Timothy’s hesitance. Especially the frozen posture, how he quietly gulps as Ra’s discards off the shirt as well. There is only so long he can allow the vigilante to sulk. “Unless you require my assistance. I assure you, I do not mind.” He purrs out.

That spurs the detective to action. He hurriedly flicks catches on his suit. The top of the collar pops open revealing a tease of skin. The hollow of his throat is enough to make Ra’s mouth water. But Timothy’s fingers fly with the latches as if the faster he goes the faster the ordeal can be over. No. This simply will not do.

“A moment,” and Ra’s walks them backwards to the bed. Kicks off his boots and reclines back on the satin and silks, framing his body in soft firelight, “I wish to watch you reveal yourself to me. I’ve waited long enough to have earned this simple pleasure.”

And it’s charming, really, the way the young vigilante colors from his cheeks down his throat and most likely to his chest, a sight Ra’s very much wishes to see.

Tim steels himself, cracks his neck and knuckles. He’s honest enough to pay his debts, at least when the contract is so tight he can’t wiggle out of it. Damn. But the team is safe and…well, this is the _price_.

He knows Ra’s emerald eyes are on every move when the gauntlets and gloves come off first, outer armor discarded carelessly while his face gets even hotter. If there was anyone (Dick, Jason, the cute guy at Starbucks) he’d thought about doing this for, Ra’s al Ghul was never _the one_. But he finally gets to the bodysuit, the only thing _left_ to preserve his dignity.

“Oh no,” Ra’s breathes out from the bed, already hard and wanting with just a _show_. “Don’t _stop_ , Beloved. We are so _close_.”

Biting down on his lip again, the suit parts over his throat and chest, sloping down to a v-ee of exposed skin. Of course, to get out of it, he’s got to roll his shoulders out, automatically shoving his chest forward in Ra’s reach.

The touch to exposed skin is a jolt with the suit halfway down his arms. If he’s not careful they could get trapped in the sleeves.

He’s apparently worn Ra’s down because now, he’s got… _help_. The Demon’s Head has had enough of the first portion of the show and is up on his knees, warm hands moving over the skin and scars, thumbs and fingers finding sensitive spots, ones that make him twitch, make him bite back noises.

“Breathtaking, Timothy,” and Ra’s reaches back enough to hold the suit there, restraining his arms just slightly. He could get out, he could get free if he wanted, needed to.

The warm and wet is Ra’s mouth moving over his throat and down, pulling him closer to the bed, closer to his body, closer to what they were going to be doing very, very shortly.

As much as he _hates_ it, as much as he wants to fight, the touch…feels so good, something he hasn’t had in too long to just ignore the scrape of the beard over his collarbone and down, hands working the suit open at his hips so he can be held still, so Ra’s can _take_.

And take he does.

The detective makes it so _easy_ for him. So easy to fit his hands into the indent of hips, to keep the pesky hands out of the way, to run his tongue over the ridge of bone, to suck at tender nubs, to bite at sweat-dampened skin. The petite thing is required to do nothing but _feel_. Even it’s against his will.

Timothy’s chest is rising and falling, panting with red cheeks, and yes, that color sliding down his throat and right under Ra’s tongue. He works the tender skin of his throat, biting at the tendon until the blush sinks lower lower across his sternum. He is barely naked and yet his eyes are half-masked, his back curved, ready to be perfectly _debauched_.

It’s nothing for him to strip the suit off while he works and touches and, yes, finally able to _possess_. He learns the textures of each scar, of each mark, feels the flutter of trembling muscle under his mouth and hands. And he will, he _shall_ , he _must_ , make the detective break just enough to give voice to those sounds he chokes back. 

It’s so mild. A soft cry, but Ra’s feels it vibrate with his mouth on Timothy’s chest. The detective must be to a small degree more receptive, more pliant, and it’s time to move him to the satins and silks, allowing them to aid in the task of caressing that pale skin.

He takes hold of arms ready to pull that body down, to position it how he desires, but the wrists in his hold tug once, tug twice.

“Um, I’m not going anywhere.” You asshole. He rotates his fists checking that grip just in case. “The restraints are a nice _thought_ and all, but I made a deal and I’m not going to run off.”

The laughter echoes in his bed chamber, the Demon’s Head’s eyes bright with mirth, “Oh Detective, perhaps I just want to trap you so you shall never escape this bed.”

 _In your disgusting dreams._ “Did I mention I’m going to light you on _fire_ someday? Because there’s that.” His own daydreams helps a little to distract him from his nerves and the stupid sensations Ra’s invokes.

“Mmm. I am thoroughly terrified. However, as you say, you won’t run off until you _complete_ your part of the bargain. How _brave_ of you.” And Ra’s takes his mouth again as the suit comes off his arms, the Demon’s Head drags Tim forward until he kneels almost straddling the man. He throws one limb over his shoulder, the other he nips the blue veins on the inner wrist hotly.

“Perhaps if your hands could prove _useful_ , I would have no reason to keep you restrained, Beloved. Explore me as you wish, for I am open to your touch.” Indeed, he longs for it. Any sign, every sign that proves that Timothy is a participant, even if a somewhat reluctant one.

Tentatively, hesitantly, maybe even to remind himself _what_ trap he’s allowed himself to fall into (and maybe, just _maybe_ a little because he’s always been _curious_ ), the vigilante’s bare hands start at the base of Ra’s neck. That vulnerable place that most fighters learn how to guard first. The touch is a subtle warning at the same time it stirs in Ra’s blood, this unpredictable man with hands at his jugular and every capability to end him. 

Yet, with the half-closed eyes and breathless pants, Ra’s already knows his beloved is beginning to fall deeper into the spell of seduction. He bares his neck, allowing for a second for Timothy to rub his pulse. Ra’s himself trailing his fingers lower to the detective’s front. The pants are a hindrance.   

Hands on him tremble only slightly and slide around to map the Demon’s Head’s own skin and scars, ones the Pit could never _touch_ , ones from his first lifetime. As though the detective understood, his fingertips pause on each mark, making Ra’s lean in to capture his mouth again while he was so _occupied_. The pressure of pain, the nails that dig into his skin tell him all he needs to _know_. He maps out the inside of Timothy’s mouth, bites into that plump lower lip, takes and tastes without nearly as much fight as before.

Rather, the vigilante is sinking, relaxing further into his body, knees going weak, more weight on Ra’s thighs, slowly giving in to touch and _want_.

He is so close to everything Ra’s has wished to see, wished to _do_ that he grips the back of the detective’s thighs and stands effortlessly holding that svelte body against his own. Only a step, a turn of the heel needed to bring Timothy down to the bed, bouncing slightly. The rest of the suit off in one slow pull, Ra’s palms following the curve of hip bones and the sides of Timothy’s thighs.

When he realizes there are no undergarments, he smiles hungry and sly. His detective is bare beneath him, and finally, he has _won_.

It is a sight to behold.

The skin contrasts with the sheets so well. The boy’s pupils dark with that heaving red chest. In addition it is pleasant to see that detective isn’t unaffected by his ministrations, his cock so lovely he must drop to his knees for a better look.

While he sucks at the indents of the detective’s hips, a story comes to mind because of how so _alike_ the situation is. And while Timothy writhes under him, almost _helpless_ , unable to escape now even if he so _wished_ , Ra’s al Ghul smiles in _victory_. His breath whispers out over the scar on Timothy’s thigh, “I once, many years ago, came across a gorgeous wild steed. The mare was strong, powerful much like yourself–”

His tongue swipes the inside of the detective’s thigh, higher than his hands have gone, earning him a swift intake of air at how _near_ he is to his prize.

But as always, the detective tries to _deflect_ , “I-I swear if you–oh _fuck_ –if you make a ‘breaking in’ analogy… I’m-I’m gonna break your face.” But the detective is pink, his legs beginning to tremble when just Ra’s lips trail over the base of his cock, his beard scratching the sensitive skin.

Ra’s laughs, the action almost driving the boy mad, him shifting as he can’t decide to lean closer to sate his need or away. _How precious._ “I would not in your presence, _Beloved_. I just must say she was a magnificent creature. I never did break her no matter what methods I applied. Like her, I do not believe you can be broken, especially in just one night,” He finally gives the detective a reason to _arch_ , his lips moving up the shaft, mouth the head, and just before he takes all Timothy has to offer:

“ _But oh, how I will love to find ways to try.”_

And _this_ , taking his beloved deep in his mouth, he finally earns to needy, high noise he’s been _waiting for_. He get _more_ when he starts to _suck_.

The cry is mesmerizing, a noise he’s never wrung from the detective. Pain, of course during the fight, still erotic in it’s own way, but his purpose, his infinite knowledge will be useful in bringing the bird around, to make his body perfectly pliable. Ra’s _will_ make him _give in_.

And here, it begins.

“R-Ra’s, I c-can’t. Ra’s– _Ah!”_ It is perfect with dulcet tones and the beginning of the Detective to feel _pleasure_ rather than pain. Ra’s has always fantasized, longed for Timothy to say his name like that, without the nuance of a crime fighter, a do-gooder, a _Bat_. He wants the man under the mask to writhe in his hands. As he is _finally_ able to get his heart’s desire, he truly cannot help himself. He must, he _will_ have _more_.

(Timothy will give him _everything_ …eventually.)

As his body starts to betray him and awaken under Ra’s touch, Tim feels something slick at his entrance and sharply starts. It’s happening, _shit this is really happening._ He knows what’s coming next, he’s had some encounters in the dark, but it’s been… beyond awhile. Even while the pressure builds low in his abdomen, warms under Ra’s expert mouth, the shock of fear curls around his spine.

“W-wait. Wait! Nnn! _Ra’s!”_

“Mmmmm.” The bastard plans it out and hums. The vibration against his hardening cock has him throwing his head back against the pillows, hips jolting with the abrupt sensation. His hands twist in the silk, trying to get some _control_ back, as a digit, a single finger circles his rim over and over again. _Playing with it_ , making sure it’s wet with oil while he goes wild under Ra’s mouth.

It goes in fairly easily, still a shock to his system, still a shudder of revulsion because this _is_ one of the world’s foremost megalomaniacs that occasionally has tried killing him. But the pain is minimal (well, when being thrown out of a window is a pretty on-point comparison), Ra’s could be a complete bastard and _make_ it hurt, at least in Tim’s opinion.

Of course Ra’s has to disagree. The filthy pop as the warm, wet mouth releases his hard cock makes Tim’s thighs quake under Ra’s hands, “You are too tight Timothy. Too _tense_ , it is not wise to neglect your needs for so long, regardless of how responsive it makes you. ”

“Oh no. G-guess we can’t have sex then, _so get off._ ” Tim shakily snarks. The slight discomfort from the stretch, the mild sting is enough to clear his brain, to remind him who is making his body feel like this. He can think again, away from the other senses wracked from Ra’s actions.

And he knows what he needs to stay in his own head and out of the person that hasn’t been touched for too long. The pain will remind him he’s been cajoled into this, _blackmailed really,_ he’s not here because he _wants_ to be. So, he bears down when Ra’s adds another finger and winces.

Ra’s dislikes it immediately, the detective knows how to use pain too well. “Do not jest with me. Not when you have squirmed on my tongue. We shall proceed, yet for ease I only need to discover the place that will make you _sing_.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much of a singing voice.” Please don’t find that spot, please don’t find that spot. It can hurt. Tim’s fine if it hurts. Can rationalize, add sarcasm as needed, take anything like a champ under a hot knife. But this? He knows himself enough, knows that every ounce of iron-clad control he’s worked so hard to gain will just… _please don’t find it._

“I beg to differ.” Ra’s searches thoroughly, the pads of his fingers scoping inner walls when the boy under him freezes. His muscles tense in one accord. _Ah there.  
_

He hooks both fingers and digs.

_Beloved screams._

Perfect. “You’re absolutely enthralling.” Worth the destruction of home and country, worth the extreme effort Ra’s puts in not to simply _take,_ to own, to _possess_ as he has done with others throughout his lifetime. No, it is so much _sweeter_ when his prey is brought to the pinnacle of pleasure _willingly._  And he watches with greedy eyes, satisfied as Timothy’s form curls almost violently and Ra’s bars his hips down with his free arm to keep him in place. The demon relishes the fact that the first bruises will be of the hero’s own making, from him unable to grind down or flinch away. His detective will take exactly what Ra’s gives him unless…the boy asks, begs him of course. “What a pretty tenor you have, my Beloved. My Songbird.”

**“Fuck you.”**

“Oh come now, there is no need to be vulgar. We will get to that part soon enough.” He patiently scissors his fingers, always keeping one to mercilessly tease and press where Timothy needs it the most. Lets his weight pin the boy down as he writhes and yes Ra’s believes he would very much like to see Timothy’s first orgasm _now_. He resumes his play on Beloved’s front, taking him down _deep,_ using his tongue to pay careful attention on the small joining of where the head connects to the base. Training away his gag reflex is so _convenient_.

Tim can’t get a break. Every inhale he draws breaks into these pathetic whines no matter how hard he bites his lips. The joint torture is unbearable. The agonizing swallows and constant pressure on his prostrate driving him higher and higher to that edge. Stubbornly, he tries all the tricks he can think of, all the equations, all the mental pictures (Joker in a fucking yellow polka dot bikini) to keep himself from reaching climax.

But Ra’s sucks him at the base, gently rubs his spot in small circles, and he can feel himself getting _closer_ …he looks down the length of his body and meets those jade eyes just as the twin fingers inside him _press down hard_ , and his body explodes with it.

He screams out, arching hard as his cock throbs against Ra’s tongue and he gives himself over.

The Demon drinks deeply. Not a drop wasted, not after all the effort needed to make the detective crack. The pure satisfaction, half the plan successful, is in his expression while his throat works to take everything Timothy has to offer.

But assassin doesn’t get off. He stays. Looks up to Timothy and lets his throat swallow again, to work Timothy’s softening oversensitive cock with muscles and warm and wet, intending to begin round two as soon as possible, to allow his prey _no time_ to get himself back enough to fight.

“S-stop.” Tim tries weakly, hoarsely. Attempts to lean up, firms his arms enough to push at Ra’s head. _It’s too soon._   _  
_

But his wrists are caught, held at his hips while he starts responding again, the vestiges of orgasm lingering in his spine ramping up to be even more painful, almost on the edge of _too much, not enough_. Two fingers becomes three, then four.

He gasps out in relief when Ra’s finally draws back and the weight comes off his lower body (not like he can really _move_ yet anyway, his legs are jelly and he might have a coherent _thought_ somewhere in his brain pan), but he _knows_ what’s next, what Ra’s has planned just by the way those eyes glitter down at him.

Ra’s knees pushing at the back of his thighs, to open him up wide around the Demon’s Head’s hips and allow the wet tip of that cock brush at his entrance.

For a moment the world turns because _it’s time_. Oh _God_ , it’s time (and his body may throb for it, might actually _need_ to be full, to be _filled up_ ). Knowing where this was going to go, knowing what he’d agreed to had been just a secondary concern when the lives of his team were on the line, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking about it in the Batwing on the way here, getting himself ready to be calm about it.

Only…he didn’t plan on kind-of-almost-maybe _wanting it_.

Ra’s takes but a moment, just a short moment, to lay his lips back on the scar _, that scar_ , the one he personally placed on this body, the one from his sword there for him to taste, the one that proves Timothy is his. He only slightly moves his hips, assures himself Timothy is wet enough, stretched enough from play, to take him completely in on the first thrust.

It’s an easy prod, pressing himself up against that perfect place when the Demon’s Head looks down and takes in everything splayed before him:

Dazed and red flushed down his body, chest still heaving from panted breaths, Timothy is still struggling, still trying to pull himself away.

“So beautiful, my Beloved. So lovely for me, so wanton and wet. You are _made_ for this, Timothy. Made to be worshiped, made to be taken, made to be _needed_. They will not come for you, not when your place is, has always been, _here_.”

A breath when Ra’s leans down, mouths at his neck, working his hips, pressing just inside, teasing with it, “and I? I take great _pleasure_ in this, the most brilliant detective to ever best me. More than your mentor, more than your predecessors. You are _perfection_ , and to have you is an honor I will most certainly _take_.”

The words cut deep. Of course Ra’s wants to play headgames here. Of course, but the praise still makes fractures, in that place he doesn’t wish to admit he has. The place that’s dark…and angry. Where the toy soldier tires, always placed to the side when there isn’t a case, always–fuck he needs to focus, but…would it be so bad to let go? Just tonight. Just this one time.

“Now, Beloved,” and Ra’s hips retreat, “allow me to care for you, to catch you. All you must do…is to simply let _go_.” In one thrust, Ra’s buries himself to the hilt.

Tim’s mouth opens nice and slack. Silent on the fullness of it all. He would be somewhat (incredibly, stupidly) grateful that Ra’s just waits, gives him that minute to adjust, but he really _can’t think._ All he can do is feel every ridge, every throbbing pulse, the nudge to his gland that makes spots dance in front of his eyes.

He didn’t come with that first thrust, but it wasn’t for lack of _trying_.

“So _tight_ for me, Timothy,” and Ra’s pants it out against his throat, teeth almost biting into his jugular. The man threads his fingers through that hair, pushing a tendril behind an ear, before palming a cheek to coo, “you must relax. So _perfect_ , dearest, you’re doing wonderful for me. _Feel_.”

“D-don’t–” Tim inhales, pants for a good breath, _“_ –need a _pep_ talk.”

Slowly, the hard length inside him draws out in a slick slide, catching every nerve ending, making him arch automatically, eyes widen. The gradual push back in, filling him up…and he’s been so empty for so long, being filled, being held, the slide of skin, the grip in his hair, all of it reaches down _deep_ , holds him in the Demon’s Head’s thrall.

At that slow, sensual slide, Ra’s groans against his hair, his neck, his mouth, taking him apart in degrees. But nothing stops the headgames, Ra’s trying to trap him as per usual. 

When the pace quickens just slightly, when he realizes his arms have come up to wrap around Ra’s shoulders so he can just hold on, the question comes from out of nowhere.

“And what must I do to persuade you to my side?” The thrust fills him deep enough that he has to bite down _hard_ on his lower lip to keep from crying out, “consider it, Detective, I would not leave you wanting. I would keep you by my side for always, I would provide to fulfill any desire. I would give you what you have always _deserved_ to have.” 

“N-not– _oh God_ –interested.” Not tonight. More sounds tumble from his lips, keens, moans, Ra’s wishes to hear varieties of them all. He gets them.

“And that’s what defines you as the rarer greater treasure, Dearest.” To stop it. Stop those words from causing anymore damage, Tim mashes their mouths together desperately. Wants them wrecked, bruised so it pangs Ra’s to talk. Ra’s chuckles, but it is an excellent distraction, the kisses turn rougher as they take turns to explore and conquer.

They melt. The thrusts become faster, more unconstrained. Ra’s longs to crow with triumph for the detective is moving in turn _with him._ The two of them drive one another, spurn one another, work in a terrible perfect harmony; their bodies slide together as the pleasure winds tighter between them, tenses, threatens to _snap_.

A shift of Timothy’s hips, putting him to ride in Ra’s _lap_ , hands pulling him just right, and a hard thrust hits right on that _spot_ , making the brilliant Bat throw his head back and _keen_.

“This,” Ra’s hisses out, moving, working, “is how you are meant to be _seen_. Lost in pleasure, given nothing but every ounce of attention. You are meant to be _taken_ , Timothy.”

“ _Shut up._ S-shut up. Y-You can’t–!” But what he might have said as another hard thrust hits his spot again is lost and his cock throbs with it. Ra’s effectively silencing him.

“But I _can_ and _will_ ,” the speed picks up, Ra’s chasing their ends, hands lifting Timothy’s hips to meet him, and the thighs around his waist squeeze. “I will _keep_ you if only you let me. I will _have you_ if only you allow it, Detective.”

And even moving so fast and hard, that jade gaze watches every move, notes the torn lips and clenched fists.

“Say the word, Timothy, and I will give you the _world_.”

“N-never.” The word is broken, but absolute.

Pity, still in his right mind. Well, they have all night, do they not?

This round, however, is stretching even _his_ infinite patience, and just the call to fill the detective _up_ , to soil him, to bring him even a step _closer_ , is too much to _deny_ any longer.

_“Come for me pretty bird. Come for me **now**.” _

Tim throws his head to the side in denial, trying to hide from it. Blood has made a path down his chin, flecks straining the sheets from the hole bitten in his lip, trying to hold himself _back_ , but nothing can _stop_ him when Ra’s wraps one hand around his dripping cock. The intensity and pleasure, the abuse against his spot, all of it compound, and the pressure in his body splinters, bringing him with one last pull. 

He sobs when he comes, overwhelmed. Somehow his fists found the hard muscle of Ra’s biceps, carving grooves while waves of lewd gratification break.That final spice of pain a bittersweet necessity, is what topples Ra’s to groan. It’s madness. The tight clench, the throb of muscle around his cock when he feels the Detective finally let go, when he has, in essence, _won_ , is the final push over the abyss, and Ra’s fucks Timothy through his orgasm, filling him to the brim with warm and complete _satisfaction_.

After they’re both spent, reeling from the intensity, pleasure still making their hearts beat loud, Ra’s utters another groan at how _tight_ his Beloved has become, refusing to release him. It is simply divine, another step closer into owning him  Rather than pin his conquest, Ra’s slides an arm under the detective’s limp body, noting the unfocused, blissed eyes, and falls to his side, cradling Tim to lay half on him, remaining joined.

They lay there panting, catching their breaths  Wearily Tim rests his forehead against Ra’s chest just for a little while. This doesn’t mean anything. Not the way his flesh has no more tension, just suspended by the tremors that still catch him off guard here and there. It’s over. _It’s finally over._

And the Demon’s Head takes just a moment to enjoy the warm body against him, moves his hips just slightly, subtly. It’s cruel, yet Timothy kept Ra’s waiting _for far too long_ and he has never been accused of being kind. Without displacing his Beloved, he reaches for the pitcher on the beside table with one hand and drains it. Then snakes a hand over a chin to tilt that dazed face up and leans in to slide their mouths together, to open those lips with his own and force the detective to drink from his mouth. His dear Timothy chokes and sputters a bit but most of the drugged liquid runs down his throat. Ra’s licks torn lips to soothe, clean any excess drops, he himself immune to the mild aphrodisiac. Ra’s finds the drug necessary to hydrate the dear and well…without the Pit’s influence it is the only way for the hero to keep up with the Demon’s insatiable appetite.

The lovely man coughs weakly. “ _You. Fucking. Bastard.”_  Oh, how Timothy has any voice left is a wonder in itself. Ra’s supposes he should appreciate the hero’s sounds while they last.

Then again his voice is not without a rasp of it’s own. “You said _one night_ Beloved and we have still hours remaining before dawn.”

He smiles benevolently down at the trapped lover in his arms. _Gives no escape to the way he moves his hips_ , working them both with the slow burn already begun. The soft, high frustrated noise against his throat, and a slow, sly smile turns his features–perhaps after tonight, the Detective would return to his bed if only to feel the sweetness of their joined bodies, giving Ra’s plenty of _time_ for feed a new addiction.

As the pace picks up again, and Timothy is helpless with it, able to do little more than hold on, Ra’s idly wonders what traps to set. After all…he has always wanted a pretty songbird of his own.


End file.
